


Bang and Burn Oneshots: Tales From the Agents of Forte

by App1e_Juice



Series: Bang and Burn [2]
Category: Minecraft - Fandom
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Fluff, Holidays, M/M, Romance, bang and burn, mcyt - Freeform, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27727544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/App1e_Juice/pseuds/App1e_Juice
Summary: A collection of oneshots based in the "Bang and Burn" universe. While these oneshots can be enjoyed on their own, some story elements may not make sense if you aren't familiar with the B&B universe. At the start of each chapter, there will be a list of the main characters as well as what part of the main series you need to read to in order to avoid any spoilers. I will also include any trigger warnings if there are any below the character list. Please enjoy!
Series: Bang and Burn [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2028179
Comments: 11
Kudos: 61





	1. Quite Lucky

Reading Requirements: End of Bang and Burn 1

Characters: Wilbur, Dream, George, Badboyhalo, Skeppy, Sapnap, Mega, Mega's Mom, Tommy, and Tubbo 

TW: None!

Genre: Fluff, Comedy

  
It all started with a single text. 

**Darryl**

_Thanksgiving at Wilbur’s house! :D_

Wilbur thought it was a joke. He had spent the better part of the day lounging around and writing new songs. It wasn’t until he heard a knock at his door that he began to panic. He opened the door to find Darryl and Zak holding multiple grocery bags full of Tupperware, each containing different sweets and pastries. 

Wilbur stared at them for a moment. “Uh...hi?”

Darryl looked over his shoulder. “Are you going to let us in?”

“Why?”

Darryl smiled. “For Thanksgiving!”

Wilbur’s heart stopped. “I didn’t think you were serious.”

“Darryl is always serious,” Zak stated. “Don’t mess with the man’s feast.” He pushed past Wilbur and sat his bag down on the table while he took in the apartment. It was small but was just big enough for him to host Thanksgiving, especially since everyone was bringing dishes that they had already prepared. “Would you like any help straightening up before dinner?”

“I didn’t agree to this,” Wilbur said as he settled onto the couch, beginning to grow stressed. 

Zak pulled out his phone. “Yeah, you did. You agreed to it in our group text we added you to.” 

**Darryl**

_Thanksgiving at Wilbur’s house! :D_

**Wilbur**

_Bet._

“I thought that was a joke!” Wilbur yelled. “I don’t even celebrate Thanksgiving!”

Darryl grabbed Zak’s bag from the table. “Oh, that’s okay. If you don’t want to host it, we can go elsewhere.”

As much as he didn’t want to host the holiday feast, he felt bad watching Darryl start to leave. After Illumina, he was desperate for positive human interaction. Believing that this may be his way to make peace with the people who helped him, he yelled out, “WAIT! Wait.” He grabbed the bags from Darryl. “I can host it this year.”

Darryl threw his arms around Wilbur. “Yay! Thank you! Okay, Zak, help me clean up in here. Wilbur, get your dish ready so we can start putting everything out onto the table!” Zak nodded and opened up the cabinet under the sink to grab the cleaning supplies. The two of them had helped Wilbur clean up when he first moved in, so everything was still in the same place he left it in. 

Wilbur opened up his pantry, ready to figure out how he could contribute to dinner. His shelves were mostly barren, with only a few necessities that he needed. There was nothing there that he could use to make a dish large enough to feed everyone coming over. But, even if he was expecting guests, he lacked the funds he’d need to buy the ingredients to make something nice. He then decided to pop open the freezer to see if he had any other options. He spotted a bottle of Vodka and a frozen pizza. He decided that it was enough, and pulled them both out of the freezer. 

Darryl walked into the small kitchen and gave Wilbur a weird look. “I understand the alcohol, but the pizza?” 

“Darryl, I literally have nothing.” 

“Do you want me to take you shopping so you can pick something out?” Darryl offered. “I don’t mind!”

“ **No**.” Wilbur opened up the pizza box. “You guys have already helped me so much financially. Without you and Zak and everyone else, I wouldn’t have this place. I’d be homeless. I don’t need anything else from you guys.”

Darryl wanted to object, but he decided not to. Instead, he made a mental note to bring it up later, then pulled out his phone. “Did George and Clay ever say what time they were going to be here at?”

“I think they said they would try to be here by four,” Zak responded as he sprayed the counter with some lemon-scented cleaner. “Why?”

“It’s three fifty-five,” Darryl responded. He hit George’s contact and eagerly waited for him to pick up. 

As soon as it picked up, Darryl could hear George giggling as Clay shouted, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CASTRATED IT?!” 

When George caught his breath, he said, “Hey, Darryl! You’re on speaker.”

“Dad! Hi!” Clay yelled. “Did you know how nasty it is to make a turkey? George ripped it open and it was disgusting.”

“Is everything okay?” Darryl asked, doing his best to remain serious. He wanted to smile after listening to how happy they sounded, but Zak had told him that he can hear his smile over the phone. What was supposed to be a sweet comment only made Darryl paranoid that people can hear his emotions.

“Yeah! Everything is great!” George responded. “Wait, Clay, no! We don’t need any more seasoning!” 

“You removed the thing’s testicles!” 

“No, I didn’t! It’s a female turkey!” He then heard George happily shriek. “CLAY! STOOOOP! We don’t put spices on the outside!!!!” The two laughed hysterically for a few moments, then George calmed down just enough to say, “We’ll be there in fifteen minutes!” before hanging up the phone. 

Then, the door opened as Dylan let himself in. “Hey, fuckers!” 

“ **Dylan!** ” Darryl yelled. “Language!”

Dylan looked at Darryl and winced. “Oh shit, you’re already here.”

“LANGUAGE!” 

“ **FUCK!** ” Dylan turned around and headed back towards the door, where his mother was standing with a glass baking pan in her arms. “I’m just going to try this again.”

“You better knock this time!” Darryl yelled after him. Dylan closed the door behind him, then knocked. “Come in!” Darryl said happily. 

Dylan walked in, his mom beside him. “Happy Thanksgiving everyone!”

Darryl walked over and took the glass dish from Dylan’s mother. “This smells amazing. Let me guess, green bean casserole?”

She nodded. “You know it!” 

Darryl sat it down on the freshly cleaned counter as Zak and Wilbur opened the bottle of alcohol. Darryl took it from them and began walking to the front door. “What are you doing with that?” Zak asked. 

“Dylan is here. You two do not need to be drinking. We can have plenty of fun without it.”

“Darryl, that stuff doesn’t bother me,” Dylan pointed out as he settled into a chair at the table. 

“Do you want to deal with them when they get drunk? No? I thought so!” Darryl opened the door and stuck it by the doorframe. “Wilbur, you can have this back when we leave.” Wilbur shrugged it off as he checked his pizza in the oven. 

Darryl’s phone rang. When he picked it up, he was greeted by Nick’s voice. “Darryl! So, what size of potatoes should I be bringing?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Like, should I order a small, medium, or large?”

“Nick, where are you?”

“...KFC.”

Darryl rubbed his face. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“You told me to get mashed potatoes! How else was I supposed to get them?”

“How about by making them?!?!”

“Wait...you can make them?”

Darryl couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Get two larges and remind me to have a talk with you later.”

“Perfect. Thanks. I’ll be over there as soon as I can!” Nick then hung up. 

Darryl put down his phone, still in shock over the conversation. “Nick didn’t know you could make your own mashed potatoes.” 

Dylan’s mom giggled. “Wow. I can’t believe you trust him with a gun!”

“I don’t,” Darryl responded. “Not anymore, at least.”

Then, there was another knock at the door. Darryl opened the door for Clay as he came in, carrying a large aluminum container housing a perfect-looking turkey. George came in behind him, holding a large number of plastic plates and silverware. As Clay put the turkey down on the counter beside Dylan’s mom’s casserole, Darryl stated, “This looks amazing, Clay!”

“He didn’t make it!” George yelled playfully as he put down the items in his arms. “I did that. He just kept trying to put more and more salt on it.”

“It was salty because you ripped out its insides!” Clay yelled, causing George to laugh again. 

George cleared his throat and walked over to Wilbur. “Thank you for hosting tonight. That was really kind of you!”

“I don’t know how I ended up doing this. I don’t even celebrate this damn holiday.”

“Neither did I until two years ago. Nick had invited me to spend Thanksgiving with him and his family shortly after we met. It was awkward at first, I won’t lie, but after we started getting comfortable with each other, it was a lot of fun. Having a night to reflect and think about the things I was thankful for was nice.” George rubbed Wilbur’s shoulder. “I’m here for you if you ever feel weird, okay?”

“Isn’t Thanksgiving all about how the pilgrims killed the natives or something?” Wilbur asked. 

George smiled. “It’s about being thankful for what you’ve got and who you have in your life.”

“Hey, George?” Darryl asked from the kitchen. “Can you help me set out the sweets that Zak and I baked?”

“I’ll catch up with you in a bit,” George said with a wink. He then got up and walked over to Darryl to help him out. 

Darryl began emptying the grocery bags, passing George Tupperware filled with cookies, brownies, and most importantly, muffins. Darryl then removed a few pies from the bags. “Okay, all of these items are safe to eat so you can put them on the other side of the turkey.”

“What do you mean, ‘Safe to eat’?” George asked. 

Darryl pulled out a container holding something pastel blue colored and cut into squares. He whispered, “Zak made this. I’m pretty sure it’s deadly.”

“It doesn’t look _that_ bad!” George said in an encouraging tone. “I don’t think it looks half bad.”

“George, this was his attempt at making a pumpkin pie.”

George inspected the chunks of blue. “I know I’m colorblind, but I’m pretty sure this is blue. Orange doesn’t look like that. And it’s not pie-shaped!”

“He started with the recipe but wanted to add food coloring to make it blue. Then, he started adding other things to it to make it ‘better’, but I don’t know what all he added. It was that texture when we pulled it out of the oven. I’m almost positive that it can kill.”

George set it off to the side, separated from the other sweets so that it wasn’t mixed in with the good stuff. Then, Darryl pulled the final item out of the bag: a pie. “That pie doesn’t look bad!” George pointed out. 

“He made an apple pie.”

“Oh, awesome!”

“You didn’t let me finish, George. He made an apple pie without the apples.”

George took the pie. “So, what did he put in it?”

Darryl covered his face. “Gummy beetles and I’m not sure what else. I don’t have the heart to tell him I’m terrified of his food.” 

The door swung open as Nick walked in with a large KFC bag and a can of his carbonated melon milk. “Sorry I’m late. I got stuck behind these two teenagers in the drive-through.” He plopped the bag onto the counter. “Is this everything?”

Darryl shook his head. “I need to grab the best part.” Darryl bent down and opened the oven, slid on an oven mitt, and pulled the pizza out of the oven and onto the counter. “Now it’s everything! Everyone grab a plate. Dinner is ready!”

Clay cut into the turkey and helped everyone load up their plates as they went down the counter, taking a little bit of everything. They then gathered around Wilbur’s table, Dylan and Clay opting to stand to let everyone else sit down. 

Dylan’s mom cleared her throat. “Before we eat, I think we should go around and say what we are thankful for. I’ll start! I’m thankful that I get to spend my Thanksgiving with my son and the wonderful family he’s found. Who’s next?”

“I’ll go!” Zak said happily. “I’m thankful for making new friends, reigniting an old relationship, and for being able to live freely. Clay?”

Clay smiled. “I’m thankful for all of you guys helping me. I’d be in prison if it weren’t for you guys; all over crimes I didn’t commit.” 

“I’m thankful for that too,” Dylan spoke up. “I’d have to go back to boarding school if he was taken away.” Clay punched Dylan. “Okay, okay. I also kind of like him. And the rest of you guys. You’re cool too.” 

“Nick?” Darryl asked. 

“Oh, uh, same as always. I’m thankful for my life and the fact that I get to do what I love and make money from it. I’m also thankful to have you guys. You keep me highly entertained 24/7. Now you go, George.”

“Gladly!” George started to laugh. “I’m thankful I got fired from my job a month ago. Had I not gotten drunk that night, I would’ve never met you guys. You all have changed my life.” He then looked at Wilbur. “ _All_ of you.” 

“My turn!” Darryl yelled. “I’m thankful for us and for our family. Though we aren’t related by blood, our bond is unbreakable. I love you all.” 

“I guess it’s my turn now,” Wilbur said as he sat up in his seat. “I guess I’m thankful for-.”

Wilbur was interrupted by one last knock at the door. Nick groaned. “I was hoping they wouldn’t show up.”

Darryl got up to answer the door. “What do you mean?”

“Remember those teenagers in front of me in the drive-thru?”

Darryl opened the door and found Tommy and Toby standing on the other side. Tommy held up a bag of croutons. “Happy Thanksgiving! I brought the stuffing! And Toby has the mac and cheese!”

Dylan leaned over and pointed at the bag in his hands. “Dude, stuffing isn’t just croutons.”

“When you look up the recipe, croutons are the first thing on the list! It’s _stuffing_!”

“You know what sounds great?” Dylan asks. “A cheeseburger! With that logic, excuse me while I bite a chunk out of a cow.”

Toby squeezes past Darryl and places the KFC bag on the counter next to the mashed potatoes. “Who brought the potatoes?” 

Nick raised his hand proudly. “I did! That was me!” 

Toby smiled widely. “Great minds think alike!” Nick winked at him as Tommy and Toby both got plates of food and joined the others around the table. 

“Oh! I almost forgot!” Tommy yelled. He put his plate down, then dug around in his pocket until he found what he was looking for. He pulled a dog tag and handed it to Wilbur, causing a shocked reaction out of the other agents at the table. “This is a dog tag that signifies that you are part of my club. It’s something that is only given out to special people.”

“He’s not kidding,” Dylan stated. “I don’t even have one yet.”

Wilbur turned the dog tag over and saw the word, “L’Manberg,” carved into it. “What exactly is this for?”

“It’s to show that we have a bond!” Tommy stated. “You’re cool, Wilbur! You don’t work for Forte, so you can be our honorary member. And, if you ever join the agency, you can become our president!”

Wilbur held the dog tag in his hand as he felt his emotions beginning to spill over. “So, I guess it’s my turn to say what I’m thankful for. I, uh, well, I’m thankful for you guys. You helped me get away from Illumina and Techno. You treated me like family when I was part of the reason why you got into that predicament in the first place. You forgave me when I couldn’t even forgive myself. You even offered to pay my rent until I could get my own job.” Wilbur looked at everyone around him with tear-filled eyes. “You all have done so much for me, and I’ve never felt so loved. Thank you all. For everything. I’m quite lucky to have you.” 

The rest of the night was spent sharing laughs, playing games, and laughing as Dylan tried Zak’s blue, “pumpkin pie”. By the time people started going home, Wilbur’s heart was full of so much love and hope. He would’ve never thought that a holiday he’d never celebrated before could bring him so much joy. One by one, everyone left until it was just Darryl and Zak left in Wilbur’s home. 

“Are you wanting to take any of these leftovers?” Wilbur asked. “Everyone kept turning them down.”

Darryl smirked. “You wouldn’t take any more money from me, but you needed food, and you didn’t have the funds to buy anything. So now, enjoy a week’s worth of the weirdest thanksgiving food I’ve ever had.” 

Wilbur looked at the food on the counter. “Darryl, is that why you wanted me to host? Because you knew I couldn’t turn this down?”

Darryl grabbed Zak’s hand and pulled him towards the door. “I hope you had a happy Thanksgiving, Wilbur. We’ll have to do this again next year!” Then, the door closed, leaving Wilbur with a happy heart, new memories, and enough food to get him by for the next week. He smiled to himself, thankful for his new friends and what the future had in store for them.

———

Word Count: 2902

Published: November 26th


	2. A Nightmare

Reading Requirements: End of Bang and Burn 1

Characters: Dylan an this mom

TW: death, grieving

Genre: Angst

———

Loralie grasped her husband’s photo as she cried, mentally unprepared to spend her first night alone in bed. Just hours earlier, she received the call that her husband was shot and killed by a man who was resisting arrest. This morning, he had kissed her goodbye and reminded her of his love. He said he’d bring home dinner that night. He said he couldn’t wait to come home to her lovely smile again.

But now, he was gone.

There would be no more goodnight kisses, shared laughs, or loving looks. She’d no longer get the opportunity to share her days with the love of her life. All that Loralie could do was sit on her empty bed, wearing one of his shirts, desperately begging to wake up from whatever nightmare she was stuck in. After what felt like hours of crying, she tried to go to sleep. Unfortunately, the sweet release of slumber never relieved her for the night. She instead found herself clutching the pillow he used to sleep on. She could still feel its warmth as if he was laying next to her.

Just as she started to close her eyes to drift off to sleep, Loralie heard her door squeak as it opened. She wiped the tears from her eyes and turned on her lamp on the nightstand. Though it pained her, she knew she had to put on a brave face for her son. “Is everything alright, honey?”

The small blond boy was wearing his Christmas onesie that his dad bought for him only two weeks before. He held a small, stuffed polar bear against his chest. He sniffled as he rubbed his nose on the bear’s fur. “When’s daddy coming home?”

Loralie struggled to speak, fearing that if she let herself cry in front of him, it’d hurt him more. She’d spent a few minutes trying to explain that his dad wouldn’t be coming home anymore, but he misunderstood. He thought that it meant he was away for work or something of the sort. “Honey, I already said that he isn’t coming home.”

“I know, but when will he come home?” the boy asked again. “I know he isn’t coming home tonight, but I miss him.”

Loralie’s heart began to burn in her chest as she tried to find another way to explain death to her son. “Baby, come sit with me.” He climbed up onto her bed and nestled into her side. She wrapped an arm around him and took a breath. “Do you remember that movie we watched a few days ago? The one about the spider and the pig?”

“Charlotte's Web?” the boy asked excitedly. “I loved that movie! Daddy even let me have popcorn when we watched it!”

Loralie faked a smile to keep from bursting into tears again.. “Well, do you remember how the spider had to go away?”

“Yeah. The pig got really sad, but she came back after the movie ended, right?”

Loralie shook her head. “No, honey, she died.”

The boy’s smile dropped. “But, daddy said she was okay.” He pulled the polar bear up to his face to hide his tearing eyes. “I hate it when things die.”

“Me, too,” Loralie whispered. She searched for a way to tell her son about his father’s death, but instead, pressed a gentle kiss onto her son’s head. She just couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud yet. In an attempt to change the subject, she asked, “So, why are you up so late?”

The boy rubbed his eyes. “I had a nightmare.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The boy nodded as he laid back in his mother’s arms. “I was at my friend’s house. We were eating dinner and we got in a fight.”

“What was the fight about?”

“I wanted to play Super Mario Galaxy with them, but they said I wasn’t good enough to play with them. They said I would never be good at it.”

Loralie forced a laugh. “Well, there’s nothing to be scared of, honey! So what if they think you aren’t good at a game? You are still good at thousands of things. Don’t let that ruin your night.” She smiled at him, but she noticed that he still looked troubled. He was frowning as his nose was scrunched up, just like it always was when he was having any sort of internal battle. “Did something else happen?”

“You died,” the boy whispered. “The cops called and said that you died.” He looked up at her, his big brown eyes filled with trouble and worry. “Mommy, I don’t want you to die. I don’t want anyone to die. I just want everyone to be happy and I want daddy to come home.”

Loralie finally lost it, unable to contain her sadness. “Honey, daddy won’t be coming home.”

“I know. You keep saying that.”

“I mean, he won’t be coming home because …..he’s dead.”

The boy froze, feeling every inch of his body grow numb. “He’s not dead.”

“I’m sorry, honey.”

“He’s not dead, mom!” the boy yelled, streaming tears falling onto the bear in his hands.

“Baby, he is-”

“NO, HE’S NOT! YOU’RE LYING!”

“Dylan, listen to me,” his mom demanded, looking into his eyes. “He died at work today. He’s not coming back.”

Dylan jumped off of the bed and threw his bear at her. “You’re lying. Stop lying to me!” He balled up his fists as he stood in front of her, waiting for her to admit it was a joke. But when the only response he got from her were sobs, he knew it was true. His hands relaxed as he looked at her. She was the strongest person he knew, always managing to put on a brave face whenever something bad happened. In fact, he’d never seen her cry before. Watching her cry almost broke him more than his father’s death.

Dylan crawled back onto the bed, pulled on her arms, and wrapped himself in them. She pulled him in tightly, allowing him to hear her heart racing out of her chest. “Hey, Dylan? Remember the movie we just watched? The one about the spider and the pig?”

Dylan trembled in her arms. “Yeah. Yeah, I remember.”

“Well, your daddy is just like the spider in the story. He helped so many people, saved so many lives. He was brave and kind and did everything he could to protect you, his little piggy.” Loralie laid her face in his hair. “He loved you, so much. He only ever wanted you to be happy.”

“I was happy,” Dylan mumbled. “He did a good job.”

“He did, didn’t he?” Loralie picked her head up and looked at a picture hanging on the wall of Dylan and his dad, playing on the beach. “Hey, remember when you and your daddy went hunting for crabs over the summer?”

Dylan smiled. “They weren’t red like I thought they’d be.”

“Not everyone can be as colorful as Sebastion in ‘A Little Mermaid’, babe.”

Dylan sadly giggled. “They couldn’t sing either.”

Loralie ran her hand through Dylan’s soft hair. “You need to promise me that you won’t forget things like that.”

“Don’t forget that crabs can’t sing?”

Loralie laughed, then bit her lip. “No, I mean you can’t forget your daddy.” She found herself struggling to breathe as her throat tightened. “You can’t lose your memories with him. As long as we keep him in our thoughts, he won’t ever be gone.”

“I promise to always remember him.”

“Good.” Loralie could feel Dylan shivering in her arms. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I don’t know. I’m just scared.”

“What are you scared of?”

“Losing you. What if I wake up in the morning and you’re gone too?”

She pushed him off of her slightly to look him in the eyes. “Dylan, I’m not going to leave you.”

“I’m still scared.”

“Would you feel better if you slept with me tonight?” Dylan nodded, comforting Loralie. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t want someone to keep her company at night, even if it was her eight-year-old boy. She pulled him towards her husband’s side of the bed and lifted the blanket up for him to climb in. Once under the covers, Dylan curled up against her. “Now, go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

\---

Dylan woke up in a cold sweat as his mother’s words echoed through his head. He looked around for any sort of confirmation that he wasn’t still in a dream. For the first time, he was actually happy to see Patches sleeping at the end of his bed. He rubbed his face and he slowly laid himself back down. Though it was almost nine years since his father’s death, he could still so clearly remember that night. Everything from the rise and fall of his mother’s chest to the shine of her wedding ring was imprinted in his head. Every tear, every breath, every word, all stuck with him until the end of time. But, he refused to allow himself to forget that night. He had promised his mom that he’d never forget every memory with his dad, which included that one.

“DYLAN?!” George called up the stairs to his room. “IT’S DINNER TIME!”

Patches woke up and stretched on Dylan’s comforter, then jumped off of the bed and pranced down the stairs, eager to have her own dinner. Dylan carefully swung his legs over the side of his bed, doing his best not to hurt his already broken leg. He reached for his crutches, but stopped short when he spotted his phone on his nightstand. He picked it up and dialed a number that he hadn’t dialed in a long time. It rang for a few moments, then was picked up by a voicemail.

“Hi, this is Seth. Sorry I couldn’t get to the phone right now, I’m probably at work or with my family.” Dylan then heard a little kid in the background giggle as Seth whispered, “Not now, Dylan!” Seth then laughed. “Just leave a message and I’ll give you a call back.” Then, Dylan heard a beep.

“Wow, I can’t believe that your voicemail is still open. I would’ve thought that grandma would stop paying for your phone by now. So, uh, hi. It’s been a while.” Dylan ran a hand through his black hair. “I had a dream about you. Well, it was more like a nightmare. It was about the first night mom and I spent without you, so it’s not like it was any fun. I just wanted to let you know that I still miss you. Mom says that I’m making you proud, so I hope she’s right. I love you. I’ll talk to you soon, dad.” He then started to hang up, but stopped himself when he heard George and Clay laughing from downstairs. “Actually, if you don’t mind, can I tell you a bit about two new dads I’ve gotten recently?” He smiled. “I think you’d like them.”

———

Word Count: 1867

Published: December 7th


	3. Mistletoe

Clay quietly laughed to himself as he cradled a small piece of mistletoe in his hand. The previous night, George had convinced him to watch a sappy, Christmas movie with him. Though he found parts of the movie painful, George provided enough commentary to keep things entertaining. During the final scene of the movie, George stared at the main couple as they kissed under mistletoe, stating that he thought it was, “Incredibly romantic.” It then became Clay’s mission to acquire a piece of mistletoe and recreate the scene. Sure, it was cheesy and cringeworthy, but if he could make a romantic moment for George, he’d stop at nothing to make it perfect. 

Clay brought the mistletoe to the front door and pinned it to the front door frame as he saw a car pull up. He eagerly stepped back and prepared himself to share a cute moment with his lover. When the front door opened, he smiled, until he saw Dylan standing at the door. Dylan noticed the mistletoe, then gagged. “I’m a taken man, Clay. Now help me with these bags.” 

Clay grabbed two bags from Dylan’s hands to allow him to use his crutches easier. The two made their way into the kitchen as Dylan said, “Seriously, Clay. I’m a child. What is wrong with you?” 

Clay dropped the bags onto the floor, then rushed back towards the door, yelling, “IT WAS FOR GEORGE, ASSHOLE,” as he went. Just as he turned his head back around, he ran into George, who had just closed the front door. George got knocked into the door and dropped a few of the bags in his hands. 

He awkwardly laughed as he caught his balance against the door. “It’s not every day that a man child runs at you at a full sprint!” 

Clay pushed himself away from George and picked up a few of the bags, but by the time he stood back up, George was already in the kitchen. Clay snagged the mistletoe from the door frame and carefully placed it on a table beside the couch. He then helped George put away the groceries before watching George run upstairs to take a shower. 

Dylan covered his mouth as he snorted out a laugh. “What the fuck was that about?”

“You know that movie we were watching last night?” 

“You mean one of those stupid Christmas movies that every white mom begs her family to watch with her?” Dylan asked. “Yeah, I know the one.”

“Well, George said he thought that the kiss at the end of the movie was romantic.”

Dylan’s eyes trailed to Clay’s hands. “Oh, so  _ that’s _ what the mistletoe is for! Where the hell did you even get it?”

Clay set the plant on the table as he grabbed a container of sugar cookies that George had made the night before. He took one out and took a bite. “I told Zak about my plan, so he dropped it off while you guys were shopping. By the way, your mom called and told me to tell you to stop going out and get your rest.”

“George always makes me go with him, though.”

“Why?”

“Cause I get to drive one of those scooter-basket things. He doesn’t have to push a cart and, honestly, I have a ton of fun on it.” Dylan started laughing again. “You have no idea how many times I’ve ‘accidentally’ ran into George.”

“You hurt George, I’ll hurt you,” Clay threatened. 

Dylan rolled his eyes. “I’d love to see you try. I’m untouchable. Zak has been super protective lately and will fuck you up.” 

Clay scoffed. “I’d like to see him try.”

“He’s our boss now, dude. I wouldn’t test him.”

Clay finished his cookie in silence as Dylan dragged himself up the stairs. As soon as he was finished, he had a new plan. He grabbed the mistletoe and went upstairs to the bathroom door. Clay hung the mistletoe exactly like he did earlier in the doorway, took a step back, and silently waited for George to open the door. 

After a few minutes, the door opened, revealing Dylan on the other side. He pulled the mistletoe down. “Dude. Stop. This is getting weird.” 

“Did George finish his shower already?”

“Uh, no? He’s in the bathroom attached to your bedroom.”

“He never showers in there.”

Dylan raised his eyebrows. “And how would you know this?”

“He said that the water doesn’t get hot enough.”

Dylan shoved the mistletoe into Clay’s hand. “Well, good luck trying again. Just please, leave me alone. I can barely tolerate you two as it is. I don’t want to be roped into this shit.”

George opened the bedroom door and stepped out into the hall, only wearing his jeans from earlier. His hair was still wet, making it wavier than normal. He smiled when he noticed Clay staring at him. Dylan looked between the two and dramatically gagged. “ **God** I need to get out of the house.” 

As he hobbled down the hall, Clay called out, “Not until you’ve healed!”

Dylan flipped him off. “Whatever,  _ dad _ .”

As Clay watched him go, George wrapped his cold arms around Clay’s waist and laid his head against his shoulder. “You’re not going to get on him for that?”

Clay shook his head. “We had problems before because I was too hard on him. We’ve set new boundaries now and one of them is understanding that I can’t yell at him over every little thing.”

George squeezed him. “I’m proud of you.”

“We wouldn’t have been able to do it without Phil,” Clay admitted. “He’s a damn good agent and role model.”

“Gotta love Philza,” George giggled. He then noticed something red and green in Clay’s hand. “What’s that?”

Clay moved his hand out of George’s field of view. “It’s nothing. Just something Zak gave to me.”

George nodded and let go of Clay. “Is Anna still coming over for dinner?”

“Yeah. It’s going to be weird.”

“Why? I don’t think it’ll be that bad!”

Clay shrugged. “Anna and I don’t have the best relationship, if you know what I mean.” 

George kissed Clay’s cheek. “Neither did we at first. But with patience, it’ll work out.” He then left Clay in the hall as he returned to the bedroom to get dressed. 

Clay returned downstairs and settled onto the couch next to Dylan, who was scrolling on his phone. “Did you do it yet?”

“No,” Clay responded, opening his hand to look at the mistletoe. “I keep missing my chance.”

“I have the perfect place for it!” Dylan yelled as he pushed himself off of the couch and gave himself a moment to keep his balance on one foot. He then grabbed the mistletoe from Clay and shoved it into his back pocket. 

Clay waited for Dylan to explain himself, but he never did. “Why is it in your back pocket?”

“It’s the festive way to tell people to kiss my ass.” 

“I thought you were taken?” Clay teased. 

Dylan pulled the plant out of his pocket and threw it at Clay. “Whatever, man. Just trying to make you smile. Christmas is twelve days away and you look like a Grinch. I mean, you always look like a Grinch with your height and the fact that you’re fucking covered in hair, but still. You get what I mean.” 

“I just wanted to make it special, you know? He means so much to me and I thought this would be perfect for us.” 

“Have you ever thought of just kissing him?” Dylan joked. “He loves you. Some poisonous berries won’t change that. Sure, it may be festive, but do you know what else is festive? Spending time with the people you care about. Just walk up to him, say you love him, and kiss him.”

“What if it’s not good enough?” Clay asked. 

Dylan looked behind Clay and snickered. “Why don’t you ask him yourself then?”

Clay turned around and saw George lingering by the stairs, his cheeks dusted pink. “Is that why you’ve been acting weird?”

Clay nodded. “I just wanted to make it perfect. I saw how happy you were when we watched the kissing scene in the movie last night and I wanted to recreate it.”

George laughed. “Clay, I didn’t care about the kiss.”

“But you said, ‘That’s so cute,’ George!”

“I wasn’t talking about the kiss Clay!” George walked over to the couch and leaned over the back of it. “There was a cat in the background that was rubbing its head on the Christmas tree. It looked just like that kitten I was telling you about that I want to adopt. It had nothing to do with the kiss.” 

Clay let out a nervous laugh. “Well, uh, this is awkward.”

George reached down and grabbed the mistletoe from Clay’s hand. “I mean, I’m not opposed to kissing you, but who needs mistletoe when you look as cute as you do?”

Dylan pushed himself off of the couch again. “Nope, not doing this. Not today. I’m calling Anna and we’ll just go get a pizza or something. You two disgust me.” 

“You’ll get it when you’re older,” Clay stated. 

Dylan shuddered. “Just- no. Enjoy dinner. I’m out.”

_\---_

**Word Count: 1503**

_Published: December 13th_


	4. Something's Burning

Zak stared at the measuring cups on the counter as he tried to figure out which small spoon was which, feeling stressed. Darryl had left the house to take care of a few things at Forte, leaving Zak alone for a few hours. While scrolling through Twitter, he saw that Dylan was posting pictures of some beautiful sugar cookies that George made. Deciding that he was just as good at cooking as George was, Zak demanded to be sent the recipe. He was determined to have the cookies done for Darryl to enjoy when he got home. Now, he was standing in the kitchen, struggling to figure out which measuring spoon was the tablespoon.

After a quick Google search, Zak was confident he had the right spoon. It was about the same size as the spoons he used when he ate at the table, so that just had to be the tablespoon. He grabbed the milk from the counter and tried his best to pour it into the small spoon, but he overshot his pour and doubled the amount of milk that the recipe called for. He tried to stay optimistic about it, convincing himself that adding milk just meant he didn’t have to dip it in milk when they were done. The rest of the ingredients were added just as recklessly as the milk, Zak either adding too much or not enough of something. He tried not to think about it much, but when the dough came out a little watery, he started to get worried.

Zak reached for the box of food coloring that he had in the cabinet and popped it open, grabbing the small tube of red dye. He read the back of the box to see how much food coloring he had to add, but was shocked when he saw that sugar cookies only require 2-4 drops. Zak gently squeezed the bottle and watched the red dye drip onto the watery dough, feeling confused. He stirred the bowl, noticing that it wasn’t nearly as red as he wanted it to be. Zak took the small tube between his fingers once again and squeezed until more than half of the whole tube was in the dough. He mixed it together with a big smile on his face, happy that he had achieved the deep crimson color that he knew Darryl loved.

Zak then grabbed the largest cookie sheet he could find and poured all of the dough into it, not stopping to spray the pan or cut the cookies into the christmas shapes he wanted to. He felt slightly disgusted as he watched clumps of flour plop onto the pan, not mixed in completely with the rest of the batter. He took a spoon and began flattening the clumps to push them back into the rest of his mixture. Just as he was about to mix it just a bit more, he heard Rat and Rocco bark at the front door. He shoved the pan into the oven and preheated the oven to 450 degrees. The recipe called for 350 degrees, but Zak figured that if he cranked up the temperature, it’d cook faster. He dropped his bowl, the measuring cups, and spoons into the sink just in time to hear Darryl come through the door.

Darryl sat his laptop case on a small table beside the door, then knelt down to greet his dogs. Zak smiled as he listened to Darryl talk to them using a cute, high-pitched voice. Zak had questioned why Darryl consistently baby-talked the dogs, but Darryl couldn’t provide an answer of any sort. He honestly had no idea he did it. It was just something that happened.

When Darryl saw Zak standing in the hallway, he stood back up and pulled out his phone. “Zak! Did you see the Christmas cookies that George made? They’re gorgeous!” Darryl showed his phone to Zak, scrolling through some new photos that Clay had posted a few minutes ago. “He’s quite the baker.”

Zak rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. He’s not the only baker here.”

Darryl looked shocked. “Really? Who else knows how to bake?”

“Uh, me?”

Darryl covered his mouth to hide a laugh that escaped his lips. “Right, okay. So, what were you wanting to do for dinner tonight? I’ve got a pizza that I can pop in the oven.”

“NO!” Zak yelled. “We can’t use the oven.”

“Why not?”

“I...uh...broke it?”

Darryl narrowed his eyes at Zak. “You _broke_ the oven? You don’t cook. How could you break the oven?”

“You underestimate my power, Darryl.”

Darryl shook his head and went into the kitchen. Zak pushed past him to stand in front of the sink, doing his best to hide his dirty dishes. He couldn’t tell if he was doing a good job of hiding it, but somehow, Darryl didn’t seem to notice.

Darryl opened up the fridge. “Since you refuse to eat pizza, do you want to have leftovers? I can reheat dinner from last night.”

“The alfredo?” Zak asked. “How would you cook it?”

“Well, it’s still in the glass dish I made it in, so probably the oven.”

“Can we eat something that doesn’t require the oven?”

“Why do you care about the oven so much?”

“I just think we should take a break from using it for the rest of today. We _always_ use the oven. I think we’d benefit from taking a break.”

Darryl stared at Zak for a moment. “Oh my goodness, Zak, what has gotten into you? Why are you suddenly obsessed with the oven?”

“I’m not obsessed, _you_ are!”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re the one who desperately wants to use it! You keep insisting that we use the oven to cook dinner!”

Darryl rubbed his forehead. “You are not turning this around on me. I just want to make dinner. I had a long day today and I’d appreciate it if I could use the oven.”

“Just trust me, we can’t.”

Darryl shrugged. “Fine. I don’t know what you expect to eat for dinner then.” Darryl left the kitchen, allowing Zak to move away from the sink. He went into the pantry and pulled out a can of spaghettios, then followed Darryl into the living room where he sat petting Rat.

“Look! We don’t need an oven when we have _this_!” He held up the can of spaghettios. “All our problems are solved.”

“I was kind of hoping to have an actual meal, Zak.”

“No, no, you don’t get it! Dylan taught me a life hack. Just watch.” Zak turned on a small heater tucked in the corner of the room, then placed the can on top of it.

Darryl’s jaw dropped as he stared at Zak, unable to comprehend his idea. “So, you’re telling me that we are going to eat spaghettios that you heat up with the portable heater?”

Zak dropped his smug expression. “When you say it with that tone, it makes me think that you don’t support my choices.”

“I will always support your choices as long as you stop listening to Dylan’s ideas. He eats like a homeless college student.”

“Well, maybe I want to be a homeless college student, Darryl! Did you ever think of that?”

Darryl groaned, then walked back into the kitchen. “I’m not doing this tonight. I’m going to make myself something to eat. Have fun with your heater meal.” Darryl stopped when he got to the doorway of the kitchen. “Something’s burning.”

“Really?” Zak followed him into the kitchen, scared that he ruined his batch of cookies.

“Zak, did you try to make something?”

“No.”

“Then why are there dirty dishes in the sink? Is this why I couldn’t use the oven?”

Zak sighed. “Alright, fine. I was trying to make you sugar cookies.”

Darryl’s expression softened. “Zak, why? You don’t know how to bake.”

“Everyone keeps talking about how amazing George’s cookies look and I wanted to show everyone that I can do that too.”

Darryl grabbed Zak’s arms. “But Zak, you can’t.” Zak looked away defeated. Darryl turned his head back to face him. “That doesn’t mean you aren’t good at other things, though!”

“I just really wanted to bake you the perfect Christmas cookies.”

“I know, but I don’t want that. If I wanted ‘perfect cookies’, I’d go to George. You don't need to do all of this to make me happy. I love you, Zak! All I want from you are your hugs, snuggles, and jokes. Who cares about cookies?” He pulled Zak into a hug. “Forget about the cookies. Let’s just make some dinner and hang out tonight. Sound good?” Zak nodded. “Perfect! Now, what do you want?”

“You know, that pizza did sound pretty good.”

Darryl smiled. “Alright! You grab the pizza and I’ll preheat the oven!”

Zak happily turned to the freezer to grab the pizza, but nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Darryl scream, “ **WHAT THE MUFFIN?!** ”

Zak turned around to see his cookie mixture on fire in the oven. Darryl slammed the oven door shut and turned around, his face beginning to boil with anger. “Hey, Darryl? Uh, I think something’s burning.”

\---

**Word Count: 1495**

_Published: December 15th_


	5. 12 Days of Christmas: Little Babyman

“Remind me again why I was dragged out here?” Wilbur asked Tommy as he led him into a crowd of people. “I seriously don’t understand why I’m here. You’re of legal age.”

Tommy turned around and gave him a weird look. “The hell are you on about?”

“You’re sixteen.”

“That’s not ‘legal age’ here, Wilbur.” 

“You’re still old enough to handle yourself.”

“Zak and Darryl didn’t want us going here alone. Apparently, there are some issues going on that involve young agents.” 

Wilbur stopped walking and grabbed Tommy’s arm. “I’m sorry, but did you just say, ‘ _ us _ ’?” He then looked up and spotted Tubbo standing by the entrance of the festival, wearing one of the most hideous Christmas sweaters that Wilbur had ever seen. It was vibrant green and had some sort of brown animal on it. Had it not been for a dot of red at the very tip of its face, Wilbur would’ve had no idea it was supposed to be Rudolph. 

Toby looked up from his phone and waved at the two when he saw them approaching. He jogged to them to close the gap between them, barely able to contain his excitement. “Are you guys ready to watch the lighting of the tree?!”

A smile grew across Tommy’s face. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

Wilbur groaned and rubbed his face. “I’m spending my evening with the two biggest children I know.” 

Toby grabbed Wilbur’s arm and pulled him towards the festival’s entrance. “Come on! I saw something that I really want to do!” Wilbur rolled his eyes but didn’t put up a fight. He promised he’d keep an eye on the two crackheads, so, whether he liked it or not, he was stuck with them. 

Toby pulled Wilbur over to a tent, Tommy just behind them. Inside the tent was a table, complete with frosting, sprinkles, and other decorative baking items. “Are we just decorating cookies?” 

“Nonono, this is  _ better _ !” Toby looked at the woman behind the table. “Three please!” 

Wilbur then watched in horror as he was handed a birth certificate and a small, cardboard carriage, carrying a baby gingerbread man. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” 

Toby delicately pulled his baby gingerbread man out of its carriage and placed it on a paper plate. He began grabbing frosting and sprinkles to pour onto it. Tommy followed his lead. He wasn’t nearly as excited, but it gave them something to do while they waited for the lighting of the tree. Unlike the boys, Wilbur was having none of it. He just looked at the cookie, sad that he let his life come to this. 

When Tommy noticed Wilbur refusing to decorate the cookie, he elbowed him. “Come on, look at how happy Tubbo is. Do this one thing and he won’t bother us about any of the other stands here for the rest of the night. This will keep him content and you won’t have to do anything else.” He pushed a tube of yellow frosting over to him. “Make him look like you or something. I don’t know. Just suck it up this once.” 

Wilbur reluctantly grabbed the yellow frosting and spread it across the cookie, forming the same yellow sweater he loved to wear. Then, he grabbed some brown frosting in a thin tube and began making circles on its head to replicate his curly hair. As time went on, he found himself enjoying it more and more, adding little details here and there until he was sure the cookie looked just like him. 

Beside him, Tommy was making his cookie also have brown hair. That, combined with the dark green shirt, was enough for Wilbur to figure out that he was making Toby. Toby, on the far side of the table, had a gingerbread man with blond hair and a red and white shirt. Wilbur smiled as he looked back down at his own cookie, finding their friendship adorably innocent. 

Wilbur put the finishing touches on his cookie, then smiled once again, full of pride. He signed the birth certificate that came with it and named his new “child”, “Wimblur.” The woman behind the table appeared to be holding in a laugh, but Wilbur didn’t care. He was now a father, prepared to protect his cookie with his life. 

When the teens finished, they signed their own certificates, then exchanged cookies. Tommy looked at his and laughed. “My shirt looks extra glittery this year!”

“What do you mean, ‘ _ this year _ ’?” Wilbur asked. 

“Coming to this cookie stand is a tradition that we do every year!” Toby explained. “Three years ago, we both begged our mums to let us make a cookie. We both ended up making each other and we thought it was funny. We’ve come to this same stand ever since!” 

Wilbur looked at his cookie in the small carriage. “Mind if I join you guys next year, too? This was fun.”

“Yeah, sure!” Tommy responded, trying to contain his excitement. 

Wilbur picked the cookie up. “Just look at little Wimblur! He’s a little baby! A little babyman! Such a baby!” 

“You should take a bite!” Toby suggested. “I swear, they put crack in these cookies or something.”

Wilbur loudly gasped as he watched Toby take a bite out of the cookie, taking its head clean off. “HOW COULD YOU DO THAT TO YOUR CHILD?!” 

“I know, right?!” Tommy asked. “You have to eat the limbs first! Make it suffer before devouring it.”

Toby shook his head. “I eat the head first. It puts it out of its misery so I can enjoy the rest of it without feeling guilty.”

“You two are monsters. MONSTERS!” He held his cookie close to his chest. “Don’t worry, little Wimblur. I won’t let these  _ fiends _ harm you.”

“Wil, you have to eat it eventually,” Tommy stated. 

Wilbur shook his head. “I don’t eat children.” He started to walk towards the tree but stopped. “On second thought, I may eat you if you lay a finger on my child.” 

With a laugh, Tommy and Toby followed Wilbur to the tree, where a few of the event’s coordinators were giving some sort of presentation about the community and what the tree meant for them. Though they’d never admit it, the two didn’t care about the symbol of the tree or anything. They were there for the lights and their own traditions they had made.

Wilbur stood behind the two boys as the countdown to light the tree began. He held his baby gingerbread man in the air just as the tree in front of them lit up with beautiful shades of red and gold. Tommy looked over his shoulder and laughed at Wilbur, but he didn’t care. 

He just wanted his son to see the lights. 

\---

Word Count: 1117

Published: December 15th


	6. I'll Be Home for Christmas

When Wilbur played his guitar, he felt happy. Alive.  _ Free _ . Ever since he was rescued from Illumina’s reign of terror, he turned to music to help himself recover from all of the mental scars he had acquired. Clay had taken him to Forte’s counselor, Agent Callahan, to help him heal, and Callahan mentioned that Wilbur should take up a hobby of some sort. Music quickly became his new passion. His escape. 

So now, here he was, playing for tips in a coffee shop two days before Christmas. It didn’t pay much at all, but Clay told him to focus on moving on before focusing on finding a job. While working for Illumina wasn’t a healthy environment, it at least paid enough to allow him to pay his rent. Now, he felt that he was nothing more than a leach who was sucking money out of his friends. They each offered to pitch in a little money every month to help him stay in his apartment, but he still hated having to take their money. They had already helped him so much, he felt guilty taking anything else from them. 

When he finished his song, a few people in the shop clapped, the loudest of them being Phil. The two had met when Wilbur was being interviewed at Forte after Illumina’s death. Phil sat in during one of the interviews, then offered to take Wilbur out for a drink afterwards. Despite being only eight years older than Wilbur, Phil declared himself his dad. Wilbur didn’t dare object. Not only did he like having a new friend, Tommy explained that Phil was everyone’s dad. Whether he liked it or not, Agent Philza was now Agent Dadza. 

Wilbur propped his guitar up on the stool beside his microphone stand, grabbed his tip jar, and left his small stage to join Phil at his table. “How much did you make tonight?” Phil asked. 

Wilbur peeked into his jar and shuffled some coins around. “Looks like six dollars and maybe, like, eighty-something cents.” 

Phil pulled a twenty-dollar bill out of his wallet and shoved it into the jar. “Well, now it’s twenty-six dollars and eighty-something cents!” 

Wilbur shook his head and fished the twenty out of the jar. “Phil, no. I can’t take this from you. We’ve talked about this.” 

“Just take the money, Wil.” 

“No!” 

“At least let me buy you something to drink! Please?” 

Wilbur groaned and rubbed his face. “If I say yes, will you take the rest of your money back?”

“Only if you promise me to get whatever you want. Don’t look at the price tag. Get yourself a muffin, too, while you’re at it!” 

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “Okay, Badboyhalo. Whatever you say.” He stood up from the table and made his way to the line in front of the register. As he waited, he looked at the counter, dressed with red and green trim. The bright twinkling lights hanging from the ceiling gave the trim a brilliant, golden shine. As beautiful as it was, it didn’t give Wilbur the holiday spirit he had lacked for weeks. This was the first year that he couldn’t afford to go home for Christmas and he was devastated. His friends offered to pay, but he wouldn’t feel right taking their money. He’d rather sit at home and do nothing than spend his holiday overseas, costing his friends thousands of dollars. 

When it was his turn to order, Wilbur quickly scanned the menu, spotting the cheapest coffee option he could find. “I’ll take a small coffee, please.” As much as he hated the bitter taste the bland, flavorless coffee provided, he refused to spend too much. 

The teenager behind the register smiled. “That’ll be $3.15!” As she waited for his receipt to print, she asked, “Aren’t you the guy that sings here?” 

Wilbur nodded. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“I thought so!” the teenager said excitedly. “I’ve never had a shift during one of your sets before, so tonight was a real treat. I enjoyed listening to you!”

“I enjoyed it as well,” a gentle voice agreed behind him. Wilbur turned around to find a blonde woman in a red dress looking up at him. “You’re quite the performer.” Her voice and adorable German accent were like music to his ears. It was light and airy, but also had a sort of depth he’d never heard before. She sounded young, yet so wise. It also didn’t hurt that she was cute. Behind her was her black suitcase. 

Wilbur offered out his hand to her. “Hi, I’m Wilbur.” 

The woman took his hand. “Hello, Wilbur.” 

“Can I get your name?” 

The woman pursed her lips and shook her head. “Maybe later.” 

The teenager behind the register cleared her throat. “Um, Mr. Wilbur? Your coffee is ready.”

Wilbur turned back around and grabbed the coffee from the girl. “Thank you!” He then turned back to the woman in red. “It was nice meeting you!” 

She blushed as she smiled. “The pleasure was mine.” 

As Wilbur walked back to the table, he felt his heart pounding out of his chest. He slid back into his seat and found himself unable to take his eyes off of the woman as she ordered. 

Phil followed his line of sight and saw that he was locked onto the woman he stood beside in line. “She’s pretty.” 

Wilbur leaned on his hand. “Yeah. I know.” He then lifted his head as he remembered he still had Phil’s change. He fished the money from his pocket and slid it across the table, then returned to looking at the woman. 

Phil narrowed his eyes as he counted his change. “Wil? Are you serious?” 

“What? Did I spend too much?” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” 

Phil shook his head as he dropped the change into his tip jar. “Keep the damn money, Wil.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s just twenty dollars, Wilbur. It’s okay.” 

As much as Wilbur didn’t want to take it, he couldn’t lie. It  _ would  _ be nice to buy himself some sort of Christmas dinner. Nothing would beat the lively feast his mother would make every year, but it’d be better than whatever else he could’ve made with what he had at home. 

“So, what are your plans for Christmas?” Phil asked. 

Wilbur shrugged. “I honestly don’t know yet. It depends on how much more I can make from tips.” 

“You know, you’re always welcome to join me. I’m sure the misses wouldn’t mind at all.” 

“Thanks, but I don’t want to intrude. Besides, I’ve also got an invite from George to join him, Clay, and Dylan. I’ll figure something else out.” Wilbur traced the edge of his plastic coffee cup as he began to lose himself in his own thoughts for what must’ve been the thousandth time that day. His mom still had no idea he wouldn’t be able to make it, and he didn’t know how to tell her. 

“Excuse me?” The same sweet voice from earlier rang through Wilbur’s ears. “May I join you two for a little bit?” Wilbur looked up to find the woman in red standing beside his table, looking at him with pleading eyes. “There’s a creep over there who’s giving me weird vibes and I don’t feel comfortable being alone.” 

Wilbur gestured to the seat beside him. “Go ahead. We’ll make sure no one messes with you.” 

The woman pulled her suitcase up beside the table and settled into the chair. “Thank you! You have no idea how uncomfortable people like him make me. And I can’t exactly fight back, either.” 

“Why not?” Wilbur asked. “If you can kick that wanker’s ass, do it! I won’t stop you. I’ll pretend like I saw nothing.” 

The woman giggled. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Wilbur saw Phil smirking as he pressed his own coffee cup to his mouth. Wilbur rolled his eyes as he turned his focus back to the woman. “So, what’s with the suitcase?”

“Oh, I’m going back to Germany for the holidays!”

Wilbur’s cheery expression dropped a bit. “You don’t live around here?” 

“No, no, I do! But I grew up in Germany, and my family still lives there. I’m here because of my job, though.” 

“Where do you work?” Wilbur asked. 

The woman hesitated for a moment, then responded, “Law enforcement.” 

“Cool! Phil does stuff with law enforcement too! Oh, this is Phil, by the way.” The woman waved at Phil, who then waved back. 

“Well, what about you, Wilbur? Where do you work?” 

Wilbur looked around the coffee shop. “Here. I play music here five days a week.” 

“I know! I love watching you play. I come here just for your music sometimes.”

Wilbur’s has dropped slightly. “Wait, really?” 

The woman nodded. “You’ve got an amazing voice! You make the mediocre coffee bearable.” She took a sip from her coffee cup and made a disgusted face. “Seriously, the coffee here is nothing to brag about.” 

Phil cradled his cup and mumbled, “Well, I like the coffee here.” But the other two were too entranced with each other to hear him. 

“Do you do anything else?” The woman asked. “I mean, living off of tips is practically impossible.”

“Tell me about it,” Wilbur said, embarrassed. 

The woman’s expression then changed to one of concern. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to strike a nerve or anything.” 

“It’s okay. You didn’t know.” 

The woman sat back in her seat. “So, what are you two doing for the holidays?” 

“My wife and I will be spending the day together, just the two of us,” Phil responded. “She’s been talking about wanting to do some baking together.” 

“And that’s another reason that I won’t be joining,” Wilbur stated. “A few of my friends have offered to let me come over, but I think I’m going to spend the holiday alone.” 

The woman touched his hand. “No one should be alone for Christmas. What about your family?” 

“They live in the UK. It’d be at least six thousand dollars to buy a plane ticket now and I don’t have that kind of money right now.” 

Phil pulled out his wallet. “Wilbur, just say the words and that money is yours.” 

Wilbur pushed his wallet away. “For the last time, I’m not taking your damn money, Phil. You guys already pay my rent. I’m not taking anything else from you guys.” 

“Wilbur? Why won’t you take the money?” The woman asked. “I’m sure he wouldn’t offer if he couldn’t pay it.” 

Wilbur bit the inside of his cheek. “It’s kind of hard to explain. Basically, I was stuck in an awful job for a while, and it destroyed my mental health. I recently lost the job, so my friends have not only been paying my rent, but they’ve also helped me heal from everything that happened.” 

The woman smiled at Phil. “Sounds to me like you have some pretty amazing friends.” 

“Yeah. I love them.” Wilbur’s eyes then lit up as he got an idea. “Hey, so, I’ve been interviewing at a few new places to get a job. As soon as I can stand on my own feet, would you like to go on a date with me?”

The woman giggled once again, melting Wilbur’s heart. “You don’t even know my name.” 

“I know that you’re easy to talk to. That you’re caring, sweet, and kind. That’s all I need to know.” 

“You know what? I’d like that a lot.” 

Wilbur stood up. “Okay! I’ll be right back, I need to run to the washroom real quick. I’ll be right back!” Wilbur quickly excused himself and practically ran to the restroom. As soon as he was behind the closed, locked door, he pressed his back against the door and smiled. For the first time since December started, he was feeling the magic that came with the holiday season. He walked over to the sink and splashed water on his face to help him calm down. He hadn’t felt this way about anyone before, so he knew he needed to stay chill if he was going to have anything happen between the two of them. 

Wilbur looked up at himself in the mirror and adjusted his curly hair under his grey beanie. He fluffed up the curls like Zak had taught him to. Surprisingly, the two had somehow bonded over their hair, and Zak had taken the time to help teach Wilbur how to style it. Since then, his hair has been the only thing that didn’t make Wilbur look homeless. As soon as he felt ready and calm, he walked out of the bathroom, only to find that the woman was gone. 

Wilbur grew sadder as he walked towards the table, hoping that he’d blink and she’d appear again. Wilbur sat down at the table and asked Phil, “Where’d she go?” 

Phil fidgeted with an envelope in his hands. “She had to leave. She lost track of time and had to go so she could catch her flight.” He then handed Wilbur the envelope. “She wanted me to give this to you, though.” 

Wilbur opened it up and found a check as well as a note that was written on a napkin. The note read: 

_ Wilbur, _

_ Thank you for letting me sit with you this evening. It was fun getting to know you. I know that the check isn’t much, but I hope it helps you. Maybe we’ll see each other again someday? Have a Merry Christmas.  _

_ <3 _

Wilbur then looked at the check and gasped. The check was written out to him and had a dollar amount of six thousand dollars. He looked up at Phil. “Did you know about this?” 

Phil looked at the check and whistled. “Wow. That’s a lot of money for a stranger.” 

Wilbur covered his mouth with his hand. “I’m going home, Phil. I’m going home.” 

Phil smiled. “The one time you take money is from a beautiful girl that you don’t even know the name of.” 

“WAIT! She had to sign the check in order to pay me, right?” Wilbur looked down at the check and read the signature line. “Nihachu? That’s a unique name. It kind of reminds me of you agents and your second names.” 

“Codenames,” Phil corrected. “But yeah, it does seem similar.” 

Wilbur pulled his sleeve over his hand and wiped the tears from under his eyes. “I can’t believe she’d do this.” He then looked up at Phil. “I have to call George!” He put the check down and dialed George’s number. As soon as it stopped ringing, Wilbur began talking. “GEORGE! George! You’ll never believe this. I met this girl, and she was amazing. Like, the loveliest girl you’d ever meet. She had to go, and she left me enough money to make it home for Christmas!” 

Phil watched as Wilbur proceeded to tell George all about the woman he’d just met. He hadn’t ever seen Wilbur look so alive before, and it felt his heart with joy. When he was done on the phone, Phil pulled out his credit card. “Let’s buy you a plane ticket.” 

“Wait, no. Phil, Nihachu gave me the money I needed!” 

“But that check may take a while to clear. Let me buy your ticket, and you can pay me back when the check goes through.” 

Phil was expecting Wilbur to refuse, but he instead watched him begin to sob. “You have no idea how much this means to me.” 

“I think I can imagine how you’re feeling,” Phil responded. He took Wilbur’s phone from his hand and began searching for plane tickets. “There’s a flight leaving in three hours. If you’re fast, you can be out of here tonight.” 

Wilbur nodded as he blew his nose into a napkin. “That’d be amazing. Can I get a ride from you?” 

“Of course!” 

Within thirty minutes, Wilbur had packed as much as he could and was on his way to the airport. He was so excited to be going home that his leg was bouncing like crazy. Phil had noticed and teased him over it, but Wilbur didn’t care. He also didn’t stop crying the whole time. Wilbur had no idea that he could cry so long about something that made him happy. When they made it to the airport, Wilbur said a quick goodbye, grabbed his small suitcase and backpack from the trunk and made his way inside. He printed off his ticket and flew through security, all without a problem. Before he knew it, he was sitting at his gate, still in disbelief over everything. He had managed to stop crying, but he was still freaking out. 

Seeing that he had some time to spare, he decided to grab something from the small store in the middle of the terminal. Because his ticket didn’t cost the full amount that his check was made out for, Phil gave him the rest of it in cash, which allowed him some spending money for his trip. As he scanned the gum section, he heard something that made his heart stop. 

“If you’re looking for a good gum flavor, I’d suggest something tropical.” Wilbur turned around and saw Nihachu standing behind him. She picked up a small orange package of gum. “This one is pineapple and mango. It’s one of my favorites.” She handed him the box with a smile. “I see you got my note.”

Instead of taking the gum from her, Wilbur pulled her into a hug. “Thank you so much! You helped me so much. I will never forget this. Like, ever. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

“You can repay me by enjoying your time with your family on Christmas.” She then heard a man begin calling for passengers for her flight to board. “I have to go. It was lovely meeting you, Wilbur.” She stood on her tiptoes and gently kissed Wilbur. Then, she slid the gum package into his hands. “Until we meet again.” She winked at him, then began to leave, but Wilbur grabbed her hand and pulled her back to him. 

Wilbur reached into his pocket and pulled out a guitar pick. “This is my lucky pick. I’ve had it for years, and I play with it all of the time. It’s brought me good luck, and now, it’s yours.” 

“Are you sure you want me to take it?” Nihachu asked. 

“ _ Now boarding group three for flight 460A. _ ” 

“Please, take it. Just a little something to remember me by.” 

“Wilbur, I can’t take this! It’s too important to you.” 

“There’s no time to argue, you have to go!” 

Nihachu smiled. “Okay, fine. I’ll take it.” She kissed him one last time on the cheek, whispered, “Merry Christmas, Wilbur,” then sped off towards her gate to board the plane. 

Though she was gone, Wilbur could still feel the warmth her lips left. He touched his cheek with his hand as he held the gum package tightly in his hand. 

“Merry Christmas.”

  
  



End file.
